


Project Cuttlefish

by CasualThursday



Category: Hannibal (TV), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Season/Series 01, Someone Helps Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualThursday/pseuds/CasualThursday
Summary: Several months after Will is shot in Minnesota, two British men show up at the FBI Academy, working on the internal investigation.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Project Cuttlefish

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything; I’m just playing in this sandbox for a bit.
> 
> Special thanks to [National_Nobody](http://archiveofourown.org/users/National_Nobody) and [potooyoutoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/potooyoutoo) for their edits and encouragement! Comments fuel my writing brain.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Will Graham had been in a medically induced coma for two weeks when Jack got a call.

He was in the lab, with Hannibal, Jimmy, Beverly, and Brian, reviewing the evidence against Will for the sixth time. He didn’t look at the caller ID, and he didn’t bother stepping out into the hallway. “What is it?”

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped for a second before his expression turned absolutely furious. “How the _hell_ did this happen?!”

Whatever small chatter the rest of them were making cut off immediately.

“You said—” Jack stopped, raising a hand to cover his eyes. “Yes, I know.” His voice wavered slightly. “When was this?” Another pause and Jack sighed. “I see. Have you contacted— ?” Jack listened and nodded. “I’ll come—” Jack frowned. “There _is_ nobody else— Really?” Jack sighed again. “If they need anything— yes, I understand.”

His arm dropped to his side, and he stared at the wall opposite him for far too long. “It’s…” Jack trailed off, face pinched. “It’s Will—” His voice broke. He swallowed and looked at them. “That was the hospital. Will’s gone.”

“Gone?” Brian asked. “What do you mean? He escaped _again_?”

“No,” Jack said sharply. “It means he’s _dead_.”

The silence that followed was bone deep— the empty space in the room they avoided acknowledging that much colder with the realization that it was permanent. Here and everywhere else Will could be.

“Dead?” Hannibal repeated. For the first time in a long time, Hannibal did not look smug, satisfied, or even calm— he looked lost, frightened. Like a rug was not only pulled from under him, but also revealed a gaping pit that swallowed him whole. It was a kind of _devastated_ that was painful in its childishness, the revelation of an emotion rarely felt before and brought to the surface, kicking and screaming.

-

_“What did you find?”_

_He scowled, thinking over the plethora of information he’d unearthed. “I found enough.” He glanced at the man lying on the hospital bed, far too still, and his fingers flew over the keyboard that much faster. His rage didn’t burn, it froze, ice in his stomach, rising up like an ice floe, unyielding. “In fact, I found_ plenty _.”_

-

The hospital didn’t tell them details, but it was apparent by what they _did_ tell that they hadn’t known much about Will at all. He had relatives, for one. Relatives to whom his body was transported almost overnight, dogs dropped off and adopted, belongings packed up in boxes and shipped. Any attempts to contact them were swiftly rebuffed with decreasing levels of politeness. Death hung over the BAU like a cloud, which was strange, considering what they did for a living. It was heavier than the discovery of Will’s murders and the betrayal that meant, heavier than the new serial killers, who came up with increasingly twisted ways to satisfy the hole where their souls should be. Heavier than even the ramping up of the Chesapeake Ripper’s kills, increasing both in number and savagery. And this time they didn’t have Will there to explain why.

Jack was looking over the crime scene photos for the tenth time. It was the Ripper’s latest, the sixth in as many months, posed kneeling in a church, draped in black lace, decorated with white lilies, chrysanthemums, and gypsophila, pink and red carnations, rosemary, branches of aspen and cypress, asphodel, clematis: a picture of mourning— the message was blatant, moreso than ever before, and Jack wondered what could have happened to render the Ripper so emotional that he bordered on careless. He wondered who it was supposed to represent, or who it was for.

A knock came at the door. Jack gathered the pictures and put them back in their folder. “Come in,” he called.

“Crawford?” The voice belonged to _his_ boss, Claire Gray, who opened the door and stepped inside, three people following after her, the first being Prurnell.

The second was a blond man in his late forties, wearing a suit and carrying far too much confidence and with eyes that were a little too watchful than Jack was comfortable with. The third was a young man with dark hair and glasses, wearing a cardigan and fidgeting with the bag slung over his shoulder. Jack was reminded so strongly of Will Graham that he gave a start before mentally scolding himself. He got to his feet.

“Yes?”

“These two gentlemen are here to review the Graham case. They need access to his office,” Gray said briskly. “I trust you can get them there?”

Jack stared at her, wondering why she didn’t spare the few more minutes it would take to direct them straight to Will’s office herself. Her expression was cool, much cooler than it had been a mere year ago. A lot had changed since then… and there was his answer.

“Of course.” He paused as Gray withdrew. “Jack Crawford,” he said, coming around from behind his desk, holding out his hand.

“James Bond,” the blond man said, shaking it. He had a strong, callused grip, and Jack wondered why executives would need to be proficient with firearms— maybe it was a hobby.

The younger man didn’t shake his hand, eyes taking him in and then moving away, dismissing him in an instant. Instantly, Jack was irritated. “Ben,” the boy offered absently. Ben adjusted the strap to sit more securely on his shoulder, oblivious to Jack’s unimpressed stare. “Where’s Will’s office?”

“Right,” Jack said slowly. He noted the British accent. He guessed Ben was tech support. “So you’re… conducting an internal investigation?” He had no idea why Prurnell would be there otherwise, though he hadn’t thought they would hire external investigators.

“Something like that,” James said smoothly, eyes flickering to Ben and back.

Prurnell said nothing, only continued to look generally disapproving of the entire situation.

Jack didn’t know what else to say, so he led them to Will’s office, unlocking it and gesturing them inside.

Will’s belongings had been put in a single box and left in front of his desk on the floor. On the desk there were still the papers he must have been in the middle of grading before the world went to hell. Jack remembered, guiltily, coming in here to get him on a case before, how Will’s shoulders had hunched, how he’d said he still had papers to grade. Like before, he shrugged it off— it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

James stood near the doorway, eyes cataloguing the room and Prurnell stood near him, lips pursed, watching both James and Ben with clear mistrust. Clearly, outside consultants had been something she’d been against.

Ben went straight to the box, pulled out Will’s old laptop, and set it on the desk. It was a clunky old thing, but it still powered on at Ben’s touch.

“It’s clean,” Jack told him. “They’re typically wiped after— ”

Ben made a few keystrokes, to Jack’s surprise, folders opened and files popped into view. Ben hummed quietly. “So that’s where you left off… ” Ben muttered. He frowned at the screen, nodded to himself, and shut it. “All of it, I think,” Ben said finally, quickly gathering up the last of the papers and putting them into the box before tucking the laptop, with some careful shuffling, into his bag.

James moved forward silently to pick up the box, holding it easily under one arm. Jack noted how aware he seemed to be of Ben’s space— perhaps Ben was the exec after all.

Ben hummed quietly, eyes becoming distant, far away. “I’d like to address your team, if I could, or at least the ones directly involved with Will’s case,” he told Jack, focusing on him and holding his gaze for the first time. “This… I’ve been working on this for quite some time.”

Jack nodded slowly. “How long are you here for?”

Ben shrugged. “Leaving tomorrow evening. In-person would be best.”

“Right,” Jack said. “They’re scheduled to come in tomorrow. Morning?”

“09:00,” Ben said. James let out a groan and rolled his eyes, but quieted after Ben shot him a look. “I believe you had an outside consultant involved? Get him here as well, please.”

“He might have appointments—” Jack protested. Hannibal was a psychiatrist after all.

“Considering one of his clients _died_ , he must have a bit more free time than he did before,” Ben interrupted. He wasn’t glaring, but his eyes were cold and his mouth pulled down at the corners in a hint of a frown. The words cut at Jack, the reminder of Will’s death just a little too real here, in his old office. He didn’t flinch and he tried not to show how deep the cut went.

From James’ quiet look that seemed to see right through him, Jack must not have hid it as well as he thought.

-

_So he’s dead.”_

_“Very much so,” he replied. “They almost managed to do it themselves, but I finished it.” He hit enter with a sense of finality, the tipping of the scales, the floor dropping out from a man sentenced to hang. “I like to take care of things personally.”_

-

They ended up in an empty classroom, the same one Will had used for most of his classes. Jack wondered if that was on purpose. The lights were off, and Ben was standing at the front of the room, laptop hooked up to the projector, which showed a blank screen, though Ben was typing furiously. James was standing off to the side, against the wall, one half of his face illuminated by the light from the projector and the other half cast in shadow.

Beverly, Brian, and Jimmy were already there when Jack arrived with Kade Prurnell and Alana Bloom.

“Are we going to start?” Prurnell asked shortly, sitting down in one of the first rows, closest to the door. Jack noticed she sat far away from the rest of them.

“We’re still waiting for your consultant,” Ben said, never pausing in his typing. “Not to worry. He has three minutes.”

Almost on cue, Hannibal entered. He looked tired, wearing dark colors that made him look even paler than he was already. He nodded at Jack but didn’t smile. Jack hadn’t seen the good doctor smile in quite some time.

“Ah,” Ben said, pausing and looking up at Hannibal, his expression pleasant. “Doctor Lecter. Good. We can start then.” He waited until Hannibal had seated himself next to Jack before adjusting his glasses, a small, habitual motion and cleared his throat.

On the projector, Will’s face appeared, obviously the same picture from his old FBI identification card. “We’ll start at the beginning. Four years ago, Will Graham started working at the FBI Academy as a professor. He was a loner, preferring to spend his time with only his dogs for company, but was generally a well-liked teacher despite his standoffish behavior.” Ben tapped his laptop and the image of Garrett Jacob Hobbs appeared. “About fourteen months ago, he was brought on to the Hobbs case. It was framed as a one-time thing, but after that he was continuously pulled onto cases and out of the classroom. Concurrently, he started developing a severe case of encephalitis, which made him sleepwalk, gave him hallucinations, nightmares, and he started to lose hours of time. He had an MRI but nothing was found. His condition worsened until he murdered the girl he’s taken to see as a daughter.”

Another tap. Abigail Hobbs appeared on the screen.

“He coughed up her ear and turned himself in. Forensics quickly verified that it was hers, but her body still hadn’t been found. More evidence was found that made it clear that Will was the so-called Copycat Killer.” Ben tapped again, and a video started to play, footage of the inside of a secure vehicle, showing Will in the back of an ambulance, showing him dislocating his thumb and throwing himself at the officer seated across from him, knocking him out and then the driver when the ambulance pulled over. “Will was taken into custody, but he broke out while being transferred. He believed that he was framed by Hannibal Lecter, who had been helping Will as a psychiatrist. Will confronted Doctor Lecter, but was shot by Jack Crawford before he could pull the trigger. At that point, his encephalitis was confirmed at the hospital, and he was put in a medical coma while given treatment. Whether he murdered these people due to his encephalitis or because he was an intelligent psychopath who wanted to…” Ben trailed off and let out a slow breath. “It was too late at that point— the encephalitis had progressed too far and he succumbed to it.”

Ben looked away from the projector and to his audience. “Quite succinct, I think.” He flashed a small, quick smile. “All wrapped up in a nice little package. Very neat, very… _convenient_.”

He turned his attention back to his laptop. “An alternative version of events—”

“This is ridiculous,” Prurnell scoffed, making to stand.

“No, it’s not,” Ben said sharply. “Ms Prurnell, do you remember Project Cuttlefish?”

“Cuttlefish?” Beverly repeated. Jack noticed her raised eyebrow.

“I have no say in naming conventions,” Ben said dismissively. “Or else it would be something other than Cuttlefish.” He paused. “Well, I didn’t at the time. It’s a six year program after all.”

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“An initiative to do with reviewing the FBI for corruption,” Ben explained. “Among other things.”

Prurnell sat down again slowly, without comment.

“Right then,” Ben said. “As I was saying: another version.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s start with the death.” He smirked. “That’s typically where your work starts.” His smirk fell as quickly as it had come. “Will Graham at that point was a loose end, one that needed to be tied up quickly— it was too dangerous to let it be, in case too many questions were asked or there were too many curious noses.” He shrugged. “So Will Graham died.”

“What?!” Jack got to his feet, rage that was always barely lurking under the surface bubbling to the top again. “You— you’re admitting to—”

“Yes,” Ben said simply. He wasn’t looking at Jack, though, but rather next to him, at Hannibal.

Jack turned to look himself, and almost stepped back at the expression on Hannibal’s face. It promised retribution. Jack had never seen such a look on Hannibal before and it rang alarm bells in the back of his mind— it made him inordinately uneasy. He watched as Hannibal’s hand clenched around a pen, knuckles turning white. The pen was metal, a fountain pen, built to last and elegant, as was everything Hannibal surrounded himself with. In Hannibal’s grip it looked like a weapon.

“It was safer this way—” Ben continued mildly.

“ _You_ —” Hannibal snarled, starting to stand, his free hand clenching around the rail in front of him. “You had no _right_ —”

In an instant, James was standing between Ben and Hannibal, hand reaching into his coat jacket and body coiled tense, ready to strike.

“No need for that,” Ben scolded, managing to also sound amused. James waited a beat before he withdrew his hand and cast a quick glance at Ben. Whatever James saw there made him nod, relaxing his posture and stepping back to his position by the wall, half in shadows.

“No right?” Ben repeated, attention focused back on Hannibal. His face lost all humor. It even lost all expression, as if he had been carved from marble, if not for the look in his eyes. “Let’s… rewind then, shall we?”

He pressed a key and a video started to play. It showed the interior of a kitchen. Will’s kitchen, Jack realized, having been there when they had gone over the entire house for evidence.

The video showed Will, in a chair, head lolled back. The graphics were startlingly clear, clear enough to make out the fine tremors wracking Will’s body, eyes rolled back, showing the whites. Also clear enough to see a figure, putting a plastic pipe down Will’s throat, taking a severed ear from a petri dish, pushing it down the tube, withdrawing the tube afterward. Clear enough to see that it was Hannibal—

Hannibal _vaulted_ over the railing, making it halfway to Ben in a mere moment, arm raised and pen in hand, flashing in the projector’s light—

James was there impossibly fast, forcing Hannibal to the ground and keeping him there. Hannibal snarled, bucking up, but James leaned forward on the arm he had control of to keep him in place. Hannibal’s grip on the pen loosened and it dropped to the floor.

“Don’t you have handcuffs somewhere around here?” James asked, sounding slightly out of breath and more than a bit exasperated.

“It’s an academy; no one expects to have to make an arrest here.” It came out of nowhere, startling Jack from his shock. The voice was new, British, a man’s— Jack hadn’t known there was another stranger hiding in the shadows.

“Four,” James said with a grunt, but he was smirking when he lifted his head to look in the direction where the voice had come from.

“Seven,” the voice returned, humor clear in the tone.

Jack followed James’ gaze, eventually making out a shadowy figure at the back corner of the classroom, someone who _definitely_ hadn’t been there before, because Jack had done a once over of the room and had seen nothing. The man stood, and made his way down the stairs. Jack caught the flash of metal in the dark. Handcuffs, he realized.

“How was your resurrection?” James asked.

“Unpleasant,” the man replied slowly. “Don’t know how you do it all the time.”

“You’re here!” Ben said brightly. Jack glanced back for a second and saw Ben’s clearly delighted smile morph into a scowl. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You’d deny me a show?” The man drawled.

Ben sighed. “No, of course not. I thought you were fine with me taking charge.”

“I am.” The man finally stepped into the light. It took a long moment for Jack to recognize him. Shorter hair, a fuller beard, suit that looked like it was actually tailored, no glasses— but Jack recognized him.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat as Will walked forward, stride relaxed, and handed the cuffs to James.

Alana gave a choked scream. There was flailing on Jimmy and Brian’s behalf, while Beverly just looked stunned.

Jack managed to catch a glimpse of Hannibal’s face, cataloguing his confusion at the new arrival, and watched as Hannibal inhaled through his nose. He remembered, vividly, Hannibal’s story about his teacher and stomach cancer and the comment on his strong sense of smell.

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” Will said, eyes focused carefully on Hannibal as James cuffed him, and dragged Hannibal to his feet. “I’ve changed my aftershave.”

Hannibal froze, and then his neck twisted sharply to look over his shoulder, dangerously fast. “Will?” he breathed.

Will smiled, easy, comfortable, maintaining eye contact. “Doctor Lecter.”

“What are you thinking?” Prurnell asked sharply. “This man—”

“Is one of my agents,” Ben interrupted. “Please get Doctor Lecter comfortable, 007,” he said.

Jack watched as James bodily lifted Hannibal and put him in a chair. Will tossed him a roll of duct tape, which James caught without looking before going about securing Hannibal to the chair.

Hannibal didn’t fight it, and let himself be maneuvered like a rag doll. He looked like he was in a daze, staring at Will.

Will’s smile sharpened around the edges with something like satisfaction. He turned to Ben and Jack watched as his smile softened again. “Q,” Will said warmly.

Ben huffed, and stepped forward to pull Will into a hug. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

When Will stepped back, Jack saw him roll his eyes. “I’ve rested for months.” He reached up and ruffled Ben’s hair. “I’d missed you.”

Ben ducked his head, scowling, but it dissolved into a smile a second later. As if realizing they had an audience, Ben straightened, face turning pink. “Should we continue?”

“What’s going on?” Alana asked, sounding shaky.

“Will _Graham_ was—?” Prurnell looked shocked. She shook her head. “But he taught _classes_ for four years—”

“I am completely qualified to teach those subjects,” Will said, sitting down in a chair next to Ben and across from Hannibal. “I have those degrees. Just the chronology and places associated with them are a bit different. As is what I’d been doing between then and now.”

“Wasting away at MI-5,” Ben muttered.

“I was there for less than a year,” Will said, face straight but sounding on the verge of laughter. “Before you got me transferred.”

“We needed you more.”

“But your experience—” Jack started. “You solved _crimes_ here.”

Will’s gaze shifted to Jack and Jack felt the odd compulsion to step backwards. It was a complete reversal of the balance of power, and it suddenly hit him that he’d never looked Will in the eyes before, not for an extended period of time. It was unnerving; he could almost see the intelligence he’d gotten glimpses off at crime scenes, paired with the relaxed ease of a panther— strong, sleek, _dangerous_. A different kind of dangerous than Jack had gotten used to thinking Will as, at least.

“I started in Scotland Yard,” Will said. “SOCO. A detective sergeant there would talk over theories with me— not cases I was working on, obviously, there’d be a conflict of interest otherwise. He became an inspector and started to have me work in profiling. I got transferred to MI5 from there.” 

“Project Cuttlefish was working on a leak in the FBI,” Ben took over. “Will was assigned to monitor and get a lay of the land.” He took out a mug of tea from seemingly nowhere and took a sip. “He directed us where to look, and stayed there while we investigated. Typically on missions such as that one, there’s no contact with headquarters. A message passed on indirectly, but never direct contact, except for emergencies.” Ben paused. “It was the Wells case, I think. The body tower. He called, saying he’d lost three hours of time that he couldn't account for.”

“So he could have killed others,” Prurnell prompted.

Ben leveled a look in her direction. “Of course he could have. He has the training and experience to do so. He’s _done_ so. But taking out drug cartels or terrorist rings is very different from creating art pieces from human remains.”

“So little faith,” Will murmured, looking far too amused for the tone of the discussion.

“Hush,” Ben said, lips pulling upwards for a moment. “He described his symptoms and we started to monitor him discreetly. And bugged his home while we’re at it.” He looked at Hannibal. “We didn’t check the feed until after he was arrested, and when we did, it was clear he needed to be removed immediately. Once he was safe, we backtracked.”

“What did you find, Ben?” Jack asked.

“Call me Q,” Ben said shortly. “I’m working.”

Jack huffed. “What did you find then, _Q_?”

“Donald Sutcliffe,” Q said briskly. “More accurately, the MRI scans he took and attempted to delete. Unfortunately for him and Doctor Lecter, he’s no computer engineer, and they were easy enough to retrieve.” The MRI scan appeared on the screen. “The entire right side is inflamed,” Q explained, gesturing. “And Sutcliffe lied and said it was all mental. Conveniently, he was found murdered not too long later. And the person who supposedly killed him died, too.” Q turned his focus to Hannibal again. “Though you disabled the internal cameras, the CCTV outside is just fine. As is the CCTV when you went to visit Georgia Madchen, and when Will brought Abel Gideon to you after his escape and you convinced him Gideon was a mere hallucination.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure with the evidence found in your house, Abigail Hobbs being alive and well and giving a deposition as we speak, and the similarities with the Il Mostro di Firenze during your time in Florence, this will be sufficient enough to get you locked up indefinitely.” He shut his laptop with a sense of finality. “Now, I’ve placed all the evidence with your residential forensic computer expert, and directions on where to find the data in order to verify it. The write up for a warrant is in your inbox, Agent Crawford, and authorities are on their way to pick up Doctor Lecter.” Q huffed. “Now, I want to go home.”

“Right you are, Q,” James said. He looked at Crawford. “I _trust_ you won’t let him walk out.” The underlying threat of what would happen if Jack did was clear.

Jack swallowed, looking at Hannibal and realizing he’d been friends with a stranger. With a _cannibalistic serial killer_. He wondered vaguely how he could have been so blind, how he had gotten it so _wrong_. “I won’t.”

James nodded. “Four?”

Will got to his feet. “I’ll follow later. Some things to tie up.”

James smirked. “You were always good at knots.”

Will gave a long-suffering sigh, and nudged James towards the door. James only chuckled, and escorted Q out. Prurnell quickly followed, face white and looking unnerved. However, Jack could take no pleasure in it, given he was feeling the same way.

“You three, out,” Jack said, eyeing Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian.

Jimmy groaned. “Must we?”

Beverly stood up, pointing at Will. “Don’t disappear. I wanna pick your brain.”

Will graced her with a soft smile. “Sure, Bev.”

Beverly blinked in surprise, before grinning, relief written over her features, and she dragged the other two out.

Jack made his way out from the row, while Alana stayed sitting where she was, frozen and wide-eyed.

“Will,” Hannibal said softly, and Jack could only describe his expression as _reverent_ , and Jack felt dread spill down his back.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will replied, voice equally soft. Jack felt like an intruder.

“How much of you was real?” Hannibal whispered.

“Everything,” Will answered. “I might be less… people averse, but the rest…” He let out a breath, closing his eyes. “Simply moreso.”

Will took a step forward, and Jack made an aborted movement, not sure who he was protecting from who, but Will only put his hand under Hannibal’s chin, lifting his head up so their gazes met.

“You wanted to play god,” Will whispered. “To mold me in your image.”

Hannibal swallowed. “Yes,” he rasped.

Will’s hand traveled to Hannibal’s jaw, cradling his face. “Would that have satisfied you? A mindless follower? Someone just like you, who saw you, understood you, but had no agency?”

Will shook his head. “You tried to groom me as a partner,” he said lightly, and Jack felt sick at the truth of it, what it meant. That he’d led Will to the jaws of a monster and had pushed him in. Distantly, he thought he heard Alana start to cry. Will continued. “Tried to make me see you, find beauty in the darkness.”

“Yes,” Hannibal whispered.

Will smiled, leaning down so he and Hannibal were face to face. “Your mistake,” Will said gently, kindly, “was thinking I was anyone’s to shape but my own.” Will let go, and stepped back, fingers brushing Hannibal’s cheek tenderly. “Goodbye, Hannibal.” Will didn’t even bother to meet Jack’s gaze before turning and walking from the room.

Hannibal stared after him, adoration and despair fighting for dominance on his face, and Jack was left with someone he had thought was a friend, and the sound of Alana trying to stop her sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> Was this basically just a way to avoid Beverly dying in season 2? Well, yeah. And letting Will get some quality sleep and doggie cuddles (offscreen).


End file.
